One

Ostgut Ton; 2009

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During a time when many DJs and producers aim for aggressively minimal compositions, Berlin-based artist Ben Klock seemingly flips the equation, submitting a debut album that skates along under subtly violent, gray skies. Rumbling bass kicks, distressed divas, and short, snapping arpeggios characterize an album that sounds constantly under threat, usually from within. A resident DJ at Berlin's famed Berghain club, Klock has been dropping singles and remixes-- many of them on BPitch Control and the Berghain-affiliated Ostgut Ton-- since the turn of the century. One follows January's aptly titled Before One EP, a stamp of four metallic cuts that ramped up anticipation for the full-length and ensured that Ostgut Ton would remain relevant after last year's overlooked (here we sit, red-faced) Shed album and the continuation of their excellent Berghain mix series (Berghain 03, coming later this year, will be mixed by Len Faki).

One lives up to the reputation of both Klock and Ostgut. "Coney Island" opens the album blasting chewy, serrated clusters of sound, quickly climbing and descending in pitch. "OK" sounds like a micro-house of bricks, if you'll permit a pun, an insistent bass thud and industrial claps competing with a diva's looped refrain, "Ain't no happiness/ Ain't no sadness." It'd sound a little silly were it not for One's pervasive distress. "Goodly Sin" propels itself forward with a brisk, knee-knocking club thump, its mostly wordless vocal samples swaying like seaweed in an undercurrent. "Grip" pans grated hunks of space-synth between your speakers as what sounds like a miniature string section adds plasticized decadence.

One alternates between quick, ornery floor-fillers and more ominous, clawing downbeat tracks. It's an old trick that's masked somewhat by Klock's deceptive use of tempo: slow numbers often begin with a quick burst of melody, while faster tracks linger before gaining momentum. "Underneath" quivers nervously, a few drippy synth notes the only thing that rises from its quiet midnight groove. "Init One" palpitates and quivers before releasing into "Cargo"'s aluminum-walled library.

Klock abandons some of his haste and propulsion during One's second half, seemingly intent on breaking his ringing tech sound against the roof of his mouth. "Init Two" beefs up its sibling's whispers into saturated pulses. "Gold Rush" moves in fits and starts, its clingy industrial jangle acting like a lure. "Thirteen Rounds" ekes out one last hushed kick at the end of the album after a series of bangers. The record's second half, blurry at the edges, might've benefited from one of the flush wall-rattlers left on Before One. But Klock never allows one to entrench in one groove or sound. Even as the tempos slow and the textures (slightly) soften, Klock knows that his noises need not be sparse or infrequent to keep you glancing over your shoulder.